


Sleepless

by WellSchitt



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alcohol, Awkward Sexual Situations, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, I'm really just diving right in here, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Making Out, Masturbation, Sexuality Crisis, but not like a lot, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2020-07-09 22:04:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19895068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WellSchitt/pseuds/WellSchitt
Summary: Patrick, 8:25 pm: Okay, Stevie says it’s me or the lice? We really shouldn’t risk it spreading to the store.Patrick, 8:25 pm: I just got done at the gym, I’m picking you up in twenty minutes.Shit fuck motherfucking goddamn bossy nice boys in Sears shirts.(an AU of 3.11)





	1. Chapter 1

**Stevie, 8:01 pm:** Don’t kill me.  
**Stevie, 8:01 pm:** I forgot that my cousins are crashing at my place tonight. Can't leave them here alone, you saw the hotel room last time.

David dropped the pajama bottoms he’d been about to pack. “No. No no no, you are _not_ doing this to me.”

 **David, 8:02 pm:** Unacceptable!  
**David, 8:02 pm:** Kick them out  
**David, 8:03 pm:** They seem like they’d be equally at home in an alley somewhere

 **Stevie, 8:05 pm:** David. They have the baby with them.

 **David, 8:06 pm:** Stevie, LICE  
**David, 8:06 pm:** The baby can survive one night in an alley  
**David, 8:06 pm:** It’ll be like camping

 **Stevie, 8:10 pm:** Not happening.  
**Stevie, 8:12 pm:** I can bring you more shower caps?

David dropped his phone in despair. It chimed again less than two minutes later. 

**Patrick, 8:13 pm:** Hey buddy, sounds like you need a place to stay after all? It’ll be tight but you’re welcome over here.

 _Buddy_. God, Patrick was tragic. David shuddered and took a screenshot of the text.

 **David, 8:14 pm:** Are you responsible for this??

Obviously she was, he just wanted her to admit to her crimes.

 **Stevie, 8:17 pm:** Well you were whining!  
**Stevie, 8:17 pm:** Buddy XD  
**Stevie, 8:17 pm:** Awww don’t worry Patrick, David likes it tight.

 **David, 8:17 pm:** Damn it Stevie  
**David, 8:18 pm:** Now I have to choose between a buddy sleepover and LICE  
**David, 8:18 pm:** The last time I went to a buddy sleepover the other kids duct taped me to a wall

 **Stevie, 8:19 pm:** Must you always capitalize lice?

 **David, 8:19 pm:** YES

 **Stevie, 8:21 pm:** Actually, you have to choose between taking Patrick up on his generous offer or letting him believe you’d rather have LICE than hang out with him.

David threw his head back and breathed in deeply. He knew what she was doing, she was needling him, making it seem worse on purpose to just fuck with him, he _knew_ it…

And yet.

_Damn her damn her damn her._

He tapped back to Patrick’s message.

 **David, 8:24 pm:** Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to impose.

 **Patrick, 8:25 pm:** How novel.  
**Patrick, 8:25 pm:** Okay, Stevie says it’s me or the lice? We really shouldn’t risk it spreading to the store.  
**Patrick, 8:25 pm:** I just got done at the gym, I’m picking you up in twenty minutes.

_Shit fuck motherfucking goddamn bossy nice boys in Sears shirts._

**David, 8:26 pm:** I AM GOING TO FIND A WAY TO COLONIZE YOUR PILLOW WITH LICE

 **Stevie, 8:30 pm:** Enjoy your sleepover, buddy!

 **David, 8:30 pm:** Fuck. You.

 **Stevie, 8:31 pm:** Fuck. Him.

David sent back a row of middle finger emoji and went to repack his bag with nicer pajamas.

—

“Hey, David!” Patrick was smiling as David got in the car. Not like he was teasing, either—he just looked happy to see him.

David swallowed. Patrick was in gym clothes, a tight white shirt and gray shorts. He really had not been prepared for biceps and legs. “Thank you for… this.” He tossed his bag in the backseat. “My dad should have the hotel uninfested by tomorrow.” 

“Well, if not, you’re welcome to stay another night. Ray said I could have visitors whenever.”

“Wait, you live with Ray?” That was fine. It didn’t matter that Patrick lived with Ray, because his intentions with this cleancut, Boy Scout, probably-raised-Mormon man were completely honorable.

“Yeah. I figure I’ll take the couch downstairs and you can sleep in my room?”

David pictured sleeping in Patrick’s bed, his pillow smelling like the store’s honey shampoo (David had practically forced him to take a bottle) and, most importantly, Patrick. “I can sleep on the couch,” he said, which was almost definitely not true. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

Patrick’s lips twitched, but he controlled himself. “No, it’s fine. Ray wakes up early, and I know you aren’t a morning person.”

“If you insist...” Did that mean Patrick was a morning person? Heaven forfend. 

David had yet to find one way in which they were compatible. (Not that that had ever made the slightest bit of difference in his sex life before.)

— 

Ray wasn’t home, and David felt a small thrill go through him.

“Oh, his sister broke her leg.” Patrick said, concerned for a woman he’d likely never even set eyes on. “He’s staying overnight in Elmdale to help her get settled.”

Patrick was just _good_. A good person. A person David needed to keep his mitts off of, so he didn’t break him.

“Does this mean I have to take the couch after all? Or…”

“No, you can still take my, uh, my bed.”

They stared around the kitchen for an awkward moment. David pretended to read a menu on the fridge.

Maybe Patrick was weirded out, now that Ray wasn’t there. Maybe he regretted bringing him over. 

“So does Ray have Netflix?” he asked, just as Patrick said, “I’m gonna go shower.”

They both stopped, smiling at each other nervously and politely. David hated it.

“Do you need a shower or, or anything? Or... oh, god, have you eaten?”

David had had a salad. “Not really.”

“I meant to grab something on my way home for me…” ' _Before then you inconvenienced me with your presence'_ went unsaid. “Want to order pizza?”

“Mm.” Not the most attractive food to eat… which was fine, obviously, because David was _not_ going to seduce his very straight and very important-to-his-business friend tonight. “Yeah. Yes. I’ll go ahead and just… order. While you… shower.” 

_Don’t think about it. Don’t. Do. Not._

“Great.”

“Uh huh.” David pulled out his phone.

“Are you going to ask what toppings I want?”

Well, now he probably had to. “Yes, of course, what-”

“Surprise me,” Patrick said, and winked—literally winked, what 1950s sitcom had this man wandered out of—before turning to head up the stairs.

 _Bet I could_ , David thought, checking him out (just a little!) as he climbed.

—

“Want a beer?”

Patrick was damp. He was wearing pajama bottoms and another tight white t-shirt.

It was a problem.

“Only if there is literally no other type of alcohol in the house.”

“I have scotch? It’s not very fancy-”

“Scotch it is!” A lot of scotch, preferably. Fucking Stevie, abandoning him here. She’d probably taken a club to Ray’s sister’s leg just to fuck with him further. He would _not_ put it past her.

Patrick brought the bottle of scotch and two glasses over to the coffee table in front of the television, which was in it’s own room. It kind of reminded David of his house growing up, except that had had eighteen leather recliners in rows of six in front of a small movie screen and this was a love seat in front of a wall-mounted television. Sighing, David put on Sleepless in Seattle, because Patrick apparently had never seen it and that was intolerable.

— 

Patrick crossed and uncrossed his legs, then his arms. He wished the couch was in here instead of the love seat, but Ray thought the couch had to be in the main room so there was more space for clients to sit.

He was sitting close enough to David to feel his warmth, and to smell his cologne. It was pleasant, but in an odd way—it smelled like something familiar, yet it was hard to identify the exact notes. Staring at the movie but not really watching it, he tried to parse the scent without being too obvious.

_Honestly, it's not like there's ever more than three clients in here at a time._

He didn’t think the cologne was one they sold at the store, which surprised him. David was adamant about them using their own products (“It’s about marketing!”), even after Patrick made him start reimbursing the store for them.

About thirty minutes in David drained the last of his scotch and poured another glass, taking the opportunity to top off Patrick’s glass, too. Then he stretched out his long legs, which somehow pushed him even closer to Patrick.

He was wearing tight black jeans with some artfully-placed rips and a white t-shirt, and the fact that he apparently wore t-shirts occasionally made Patrick wonder, amused, if the sweaters were his idea of business wear. It was strange to see him without one. Tonight he’d been wearing a leather jacket instead that fit him like a glove, but he must have put it down somewhere while Patrick was in the shower.

_Of course he took it off, why would he wear his jacket inside?_

Patrick shot his scotch, even though there was quite a bit of it in the glass, and leaned on one elbow against the arm of the love seat.

A few minutes later he stole a glance at David, only to find David looking at him already—and David glanced down at his mouth, then up to his eyes. 

No, surely he’d imagined that.

_Just because he likes guys doesn’t mean he likes you._

They were still looking at each other when doorbell nearly gave him a heart attack.

“Pizza!” David said, eyes lighting up with that look of childish glee he sometimes got. He sprang off the couch, leaving Patrick to pause the movie.

Yeah, Patrick had definitely imagined it.

Things were a little less awkward after that. The scotch set in, and the pizza gave him something to do with his hands.

— 

David actually managed to stop gorging himself after only two pieces of pizza, which was a sign that he was _really_ into Patrick.

“I’m glad we’re going into business together,” Patrick said dreamily. They’d finished the movie, half the pizza, and a third of the bottle of scotch. He didn’t seem drunk, exactly, but he’d had enough liquor to loosen him up a bit.

David smiled. It was nice. He liked it when Patrick was sincere.

David was probably a little drunk.

“In school, I wanted to do something like this, you know? Build something new, from the ground up. Not… not the big corporate stuff that makes a bunch of money.” He waved a hand.

“Well then I’m sorry to inform you, but I actually do plan on us making a bunch of money. We’re going to be rich, Mr. Brewer,” David said, even though actually—strangely—the thought of getting rich from the Apothecary hadn’t really crossed his mind until now. He just didn’t want it to fail.

“Yeah, we are,” Patrick agreed easily. “But even if we aren't, I’m just… I’m really happy.”

His little half-smile was fucking adorable. Fuck, who was he kidding, _Patrick_ was adorable. He looked relaxed, sitting cross-legged on his half of the love seat facing David.

He had really nice arms, and David could see the peaks of his nipples through his tight shirt.

Shit.

Patrick’s feet were bare, and somehow the sight of them put David right back on the straight ( _ugh_ ) and narrow. There was just something so pure about him, like one day he’d marry a nurse, or a schoolteacher, or one of those women who sold jewelry online to their friends. They’d have three beautiful children with boring names. Patrick would coach every single one of their sports teams.

In other words, Patrick was not meant for the likes of David Rose.

“Good,” David said, dragging himself back to the conversation. He poured himself more scotch, and Patrick held out his glass for some, too. “I’m glad, too, for the record. And happy. That we went into business together.”

“I know _you’re_ happy. I got you all that grant money.”

“Um, the money which now pays your salary? So really, you got that money for yourself.” Ok, but they were sitting _so_ close. Patrick was leaning towards him, and his nurse/teacher/jewelry seller wife wasn’t here tonight. David could not possibly be misreading that look on his face: fond, pleased. Attracted. He tested the water, gently touching Patrick’s upper arm as he said, “I think we can just agree that it worked out for both of us.” 

“Absolutely.” Patrick’s eyes crinkled as he chuckled. “Listen to us, we haven’t even opened yet! We need to knock on some wood or something.”

_No puns. Literally no one finds puns attractive, David._

Patrick leaned past him to knock on the oak end table.

David put a hand on his neck and kissed him.

_Oh. So this is how you ruin things this time—_

Patrick froze above him, arm extended towards the table.

_—because heaven forbid you get something good in your life for once without sabotaging it—_

He wasn’t kissing back.

_—now say you thought he was leaning in to kiss you, blame him, say you were drunk, say it was a joke—_

But then Patrick made a hoarse little noise and slowly, slowly opened for him. David swiped his tongue just briefly into his mouth; Patrick did it back. He made another noise, one that sounded almost like a question, a tiny half whimper, and his mouth opened a bit wider.

_Oh, hell yes._

The angle was awkward, and Patrick was too stiff to keep leaning over him like this. David guided him back beside him with hands on his waist, kissing him the whole time.

They kissed like that, gentle and tame, for a couple minutes--except Patrick was breathing so hard that David opened his eyes to check on him. His eyes were clenched shut, but when David started to pull away his hands darted out to clutch at him. He didn’t pull him all the way into a kiss, though, just held him in kissing range, his chest heaving.

David couldn’t stop himself. He kissed Patrick again, very softly.

 _Ok, that noise sounded like actual, physical pain_. David pulled away. “Patrick? Is this alri-”

Before he could finish, Patrick was yanking him close and kissing him like he was starving for it. The force pushed David back against the arm of the love seat, and then Patrick was half on top of him, apparently trying to excavate his tonsils.

He was shaking. Jesus, how long had it been for him?

David gentled the kiss and ran a soothing hand up his arm, elated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know that Patrick would normally say “buddy,” he’s just being awkward with his crush here. Or something.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight tw for the fact that they're doing explicit-rated stuff while mildly intoxicated; no one is drunk, but inhibitions are a little lower than usual.

With Rachel, Patrick had literally never lost control of himself. Not once. Even early on when hormones were running high, they’d carefully planned to lose their virginity to each other the night before they left for separate colleges. He’d been so desperate to make sure she enjoyed it that he’d googled something like thirty articles about oral sex beforehand. When the night of their hotel reservation finally came, Patrick brought roses and a lubricated condom, Rachel had worn her fanciest bra and panty set, and they’d tried their best to make sure the whole awkward procedure was as sweet and memorable as possible.

Even that night, he hadn’t been so overcome with want that it was difficult to think, to focus, to make good decisions.

Wanting David, on the other hand, hit him like a train—and he hadn’t seen the tracks or heard a whistle.

He waited patiently for the moment when this would feel wrong. The moment when he’d pull back and, very politely, tell David that it was all fine, and he was very flattered, and he valued their friendship immensely, and he didn’t want to hurt his feelings, and there was no need to be embarrassed, but he just wasn’t gay.

While he waited, he let his lips linger on David’s.

Stubble. Stubble was new. He didn’t hate it.

_He’s your business partner._

David’s hands on his hips felt huge, and they pushed him back down onto the love seat so easily.

_He’s one of the only friends you’ve made in this town._

The cologne smelled even better close up.

_This is Ray’s living room._

Jesus. None of those thoughts even remotely resembled ‘ _You don’t want him_.’

Then David pulled away, and Patrick’s hands moved without his permission to stop him, to keep him close, which was… confusing. And revealing. David kissed him again, so much more gently than he’d ever have expected David to kiss. Not that he’d thought about it before.

Patrick began to suspect that that moment he’d been waiting for so patiently wasn’t actually coming.

“Patrick? Is this alri-”

God, his _voice_ : rough, deep, concerned.

_You like it, you like kissing him. And there’s nothing wrong with that._

A weight dropped from Patrick’s shoulders; it seemed to land somewhere low in his gut.

And he lost control.

—

Patrick stroked his cheek and he _moaned_ —he moaned just from touching David’s face, shit, fuck, Patrick wanted him. Really really wanted him. Fuck.

David had done a lot of stupid things in his life to earn that kind of desire. It was addictive, knowing someone wanted him that badly.

He was going to make Patrick feel so good. Patrick was good, he deserved—well, he deserved better than anything David could give him, but at bare minimum he also deserved a really outstanding lay. David pushed upright to kiss his neck and sneak a look southward, and glory fucking hallelujah, Patrick’s neat blue pajama bottoms were completely failing to conceal the mouthwatering line of his dick.

David inhaled sharply. Patrick was already getting hard, he wanted him that much, and David was going to blow his mind.

And, well. Obviously.

David pulled off his shirt, draping it carefully over the end table that had started this delightful chain of events. It would be better if they could turn off that ugly lamp in the corner—better for the world at large if they could smash that lamp into a trillion pieces—but somehow the moment felt too fragile to pause and set the mood. Patrick was staring at him, staring at his chest and stomach, looking a little lost.

David gently ran his fingers through Patrick’s short hair, then straddled him.

“Oh my god,” Patrick said faintly, head falling back against the couch. David took advantage and kissed his neck again, sucking hard for just a second before going back to light kisses. “Oh my god, oh my- oh my god.” Patrick’s hands landed uncertainly on his hips. David took them and slid them to his ass, making Patrick practically choke. “This is- David- _fuck_ , David.”

Responsive, so responsive. David had gotten less reaction from guys who were literally in the process of coming down his throat. And yet, Patrick’s hands weren’t wandering or squeezing. They weren’t moving an inch from where David had put them.

“I want you.” David said, because Patrick was the kind of guy who cared about that, who needed to know for sure. “Is that ok?”

“I- I want you, want you too.”

He was stuttering. _Button face._

David smiled as he kissed him, long, deep, and filthy.

Patrick’s hands finally began to roam his back and then, slowly, trailed back to his ass. He exhaled harshly through his nose before pulling away again— _oh my God how many conversations did sucking Patrick Brewer’s dick actually require_ —but at least his hands were still resting on David’s ass. “We’ve been drinking tonight, the scotch, are you sure you’re not-”

David felt a frankly alarming rush of affection. This man would be the death of him. “I’m not drunk. We didn’t drink that much. Unless you’re, I mean obviously if you’re…”

_Please don’t be drunk._

_Please don’t pretend to be drunk so you can use it as an excuse later for why this happened._

“I’m not drunk,” Patrick said after a moment, laughing like it was a joke, and David grinned even though he didn't understand the punchline.

Patrick didn’t offer to move this along to his room—rude—but David had had sex in weirder places than Ray’s living room. Maybe they'd move things to a bed once they got round one out of the way.

—

Patrick tried his level best not to hyperventilate as David slid off his lap to his knees.

He wanted to say something about how David didn’t have to do that for him, but he felt completely incapable of forming words, much less coherent ones strung together into a sentence. And a moment later he couldn’t remember what he’d wanted to say, anyway, because David was on his knees in front of him, shirtless, his hands rubbing up and down Patrick’s thighs, kissing the inside of Patrick’s left knee.

_Is this really happening? It is. It is, and what are you going to do if he starts sucking you and you can’t- he’s a man. What if it turns out you aren’t into it, but he’s already-_

There had been times with Rachel when he hadn’t been able to finish, even when he’d thought he wanted it, and she’d always been so hurt afterwards.

David’s mouth started moving higher, kissing up the inside of his thigh, and Patrick’s toes curled.

Yeah, he probably didn’t have to worry about not being able to come this time.

_So am I gay? Is that what’s happening here?_

The question didn't hold his attention long because he was hard, so hard, and David was _on his knees_ , as his brain kept helpfully reminding him. David’s hands were skating higher, tugging playfully on his waistband.

Patrick wanted to touch him, so he did: he touched his face again, and stroked his cheek with one thumb. It seemed to startle David, and he looked up, eyes soft.

“Sorry. You’re just really… really…”

He’d never felt like this before.

He’d also never complimented a guy on his looks before. What the hell did you say? David was beautiful—should he say that?

“So eloquent,” David said, smirking at him.

_How is he capable of being bratty right now? How?_

“Shut up,” Patrick said weakly. Then he added, because he wanted to make David laugh, “And if I have a heart attack, just… keep going. I’ll walk it off.”

David did laugh, but only for a moment. Then his hand was on Patrick again, rubbing his dick through his pajamas, and Patrick was worried about making him laugh for a completely different reason. He was definitely about to humiliate himself by setting some kind of world record.

_I might be gay._

“This is not going to last long, sorry. I mean, at all. It’s not going to last at all.” His voice was an embarrassing falsetto.

(It didn’t, for either of them, which made Patrick feel marginally better.)

—

David was getting off on this whole situation maybe a little too much, specifically on how quickly he’d been able to get Patrick to this point: knees spread wide, hips canting upward hopefully whenever David touched him, but mostly his expression. He was looking at David with an extremely flattering combination of lust and shock, and it had been a long time since David felt his body merited that kind of look.

Fuck. David undid his own pants and tugged everything to his knees.

Patrick’s eyes got impossibly wider, and suddenly David _really_ couldn’t wait anymore. Jacking himself with one hand, he leaned over and mouthed at Patrick’s dick through the thin cotton, then pulled it out and took it in his mouth, swirling his tongue. Patrick gasped somewhere above him, his hips jerking. 

God, David loved giving head, especially when he was with someone this vocal and... appreciative. Moaning, he pressed forward and swallowed, letting the head of Patrick’s cock into his throat once, twice... at least five or six times, before he had to pause, breathe, and start again. (“Oh god, what did you just- _Jesus,_ shit, David, what- _oh fuck, please, fuck, fuck, please David, please,_ “ said Patrick above him, like he was incredulous that David was so good at this, his voice getting perceptibly higher and louder each time David deepthroated him.) David pulled at the head of his own dick in short, tight strokes, imagining Patrick’s mouth there.

It turned out Patrick had not been exaggerating when he said he couldn’t last. A few minutes in, when David was barely warming up, he heard, “David, I’m- you have to- I’m going to-” and Patrick writhed, whined, and came in his mouth. He tried to yank David back by the hair to pull him off in time, and that did it for David—he closed his eyes, buried his face against Patrick’s knee, jerked himself hard a few more times, and came into his hand.

—

“Was that-”

“Are you-”

They both huffed a laugh, awkwardly, as they pulled themselves back together. “Are you alright?” Patrick asked.

“Yeah. Mm hmm. Yep. Was that- are you?”

“I, uh. I think so.” Silence. Long, uncomfortable silence. Patrick’s brain felt full of static. He wanted David to stand up, to make a joke, to smile at him. Something. “Do you want to go to sleep?”

“Oh!” David said, like it hadn’t occurred to him, and Patrick wondered bleakly what he was supposed to have said instead. “Sure, yes. Let’s do that. Sleep.”

David stood, but Patrick didn’t.

He’d had sex with a man. He’d completely lost his goddamn mind and had come in David’s mouth—David was his business partner—they hadn’t used a condom, which was just wrong, he was clean but he still felt terrible, they’d have to talk about that in the morning—he had come in David’s mouth, and David had come… somewhere?

“Is there semen all over Ray’s floor?”

“Semen.” David stared at him.

Patrick felt himself blush scarlet. “Come. Is there come on the-you know what, you go get ready for bed. I’ll- I’ll clean up out here.”

David’s eyebrows raised, probably judgmentally. David could be judgmental. “Ok, sure,” he said quietly, and turned to go upstairs.

Patrick went upstairs twenty minutes later, after failing to find come anywhere on the floor or love seat and then sitting completely still for seventeen minutes worrying about how un-panicked he felt. His found his door ajar, and David was curled up on one side of the bed in some kind of silky pajama shirt, already breathing heavily. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed.

So they’d talk tomorrow. Alright. That was actually a relief, because Patrick had been trying to decide which to deal with first, the fact that he'd slept with David or the fact that he'd slept with a man, and all things considered, the second option seemed easier.

David had turned down the covers on the other side of the bed, but surely it would be presumptuous to just climb in? He’d told David he would sleep on the couch.

_You had sex with him half an hour ago, and you lasted for five minutes in his mouth IF we’re being generous, and it was still the best sex you’ve ever had in your life._

_You like him. Maybe you have for awhile._

Biting his lip, Patrick laid down beside him, keeping a respectful distance. Eventually, he fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Two hours later, Patrick woke up because he was being strangled by an octopus.

The octopus was snoring softly.

Cuddling with someone bigger than him—or, more accurately, being cuddled _by_ someone bigger than him—was... different. He was the little spoon, and David surrounded him with a leg between his knees, a long arm clutching him like a teddy bear, and hot breath against the nape of his neck.

Rachel had always preferred being the little spoon. Patrick had a sudden, vivid memory of laying awake as she slept, cupping her breast and smelling her rose-scented shampoo, thinking to himself that if he couldn’t be content like that, with her, then maybe he would never be content anywhere.

David shifted slightly behind him, and again, Patrick waited for it all to start feeling wrong. He fell back to sleep before it did.

—

David woke to the sound of someone rustling around under the bed right beneath him. This would generally have resulted in a shrill scream and some makeshift weapon being bashed over the marauder’s head. However, the half an ambien he had taken last night to avoid his feelings was still swirling around with the scotch in his bloodstream, so instead he resigned himself to being murdered with relatively little drama.

“Sorry, just getting my shoes,” the murderer whispered—and then David remembered: Patrick’s trembling body, hot between his thighs. Patrick looking down at him with a mixture of searing lust and something like terror.

Patrick sending him up to bed alone instead of fucking his brains out.

“Why... _why?_ ” David asked, squinting at him. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“It’s 5:30.”

“Like I said.”

Patrick’s voice was soft and amused. “Go back to sleep, I’ll be back by eight or so. Just going for a quick hike.”

“I blew someone who likes hiking?” David grumbled. He hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

“You did, sorry.” Then, after a pause, “There’s coffee in a thermos beside you. It should stay warm for a few hours.”

“Please go away,” David moaned.

“Alright. We’ll talk when I get back?”

David pretended to have fallen back asleep.

—

The hike helped.

He decided that he could figure out later if he was bisexual. Or pansexual. Or omnisexual. Or polysexual. (The internet had given him more options than he’d expected. He’d decided to go for a hike when it suggested ‘queer.’)

Or maybe he was just… gay. A gay man.

If he was being honest with himself—and apparently that was a bigger ‘if’ than he’d ever realized—but if he was, then he had to admit he wasn’t sure he wanted people to think of him as a gay man. He imagined telling his old teammates, people he’d seen naked in the locker room. Or his roommate from college. He wouldn’t care if any of them were gay... but would they care? Would his parents care?

Patrick immediately pushed that thought aside. He couldn’t think about his mom right now, how she'd teased him and Rachel about grandchildren.

Jesus, Rachel would find out eventually. They had a dozen mutual friends, someone was bound to tell her.

Patrick had thought a lot about Rachel on the hike. He’d made some comparisons. Hell, the fact that one night with David seemed worthy of comparison to more than ten years with Rachel was probably a sign.

Patrick pushed that aside, too. None of that was an immediate concern. He’d have time to think about it later.

David, being adorably sleepy in his bed, was both immediate and concerning.

There was an obvious right answer, here: he should ask David for some space. The idea of telling David _why_ he needed space--explaining that he was a thirty year old man who had just figured out what sex was supposed to feel like--made him cringe, but he didn’t need to explain all of it, did he? He could just tell David that he liked him, but needed a couple months to think things through. For the business.

That was believable. David would have no reason to question it. Keeping things professional was the reasonable thing to do.

Except now that they’d had sex, Patrick wasn’t sure he wanted to be reasonable—because now that they’d had sex, he couldn’t stop thinking about them having a lot more sex.

And now that they’d had sex, he thought maybe he’d been attracted to David from the beginning. He’d liked David immediately, found him charming and interesting. He’d thought about him a lot, and wanted to spend time with him. He’d been strangely fascinated with his facial expressions, his fashion. ( _Well done, Sherlock, all of that and it only took him sucking you off to figure out that you might be attracted to him._ )

Patrick was getting ahead of himself. For all he knew, he was about to become another amusing anecdote David peppered into future conversations, like the professional domme that had left him tied up poolside in Los Angeles for three hours while she auditioned for a deodorant commercial. Or the guy he’d thought was James Franco who had ended up just being a homeless man that had snuck into his gallery for warmth.

_‘It’s like that time I accidentally slept with my business partner, it was a whole deal. I had to buy him out because the poor thing couldn’t quit drooling over me at work. So awkward, right?’_

Patrick breathed in. He breathed out. And he made up his mind.

—

The second time David woke up, it was to the smell of something burning. He assumed someone was trying to cook something, but it didn’t matter—even if the house _was_ on fire, he wasn’t going to go downstairs without washing his face and putting on some moisturizer first.

He vaguely remembered thinking Patrick was going to murder him, and looked over to see… yes, lukewarm coffee on the nightstand. David tried to read something into that, but he was still too tired to overthink things properly. He downed half of it in three huge gulps. It was sweet enough, though sadly lacking in cocoa powder. Sighing, he got up and stumbled with his bag to the bathroom.

As he moved through the abbreviated version of his morning routine designed specifically for waking up in a one-night stand’s bed, he overthought the coffee. Was that Patrick wooing him, or Patrick being Patrick?

Shit, it was just Patrick being Patrick, wasn’t it? He was a button face. Even if sex with David made him immediately pack up and skip town, he’d probably offer David a ride home on his way out. He was that kind of guy.

David finished the coffee, pulled on his black jeans and Amiri cardigan, and brushed his teeth. Then he looked in the mirror for a long moment and admitted to his reflection that he had royally fucked up this time.

Patrick couldn’t leave the store. He _couldn’t_. It would go belly-up in a fucking week. Therefore Patrick needed to believe that this was all fine, a silly one-night thing that they could get over and put behind them. It was nothing. Maybe David would tell him about him and Stevie. That might help.

It was nothing. It was fine.

He went downstairs and breezed into the kitchen, projecting normalcy and unconcern—and then stopped, awkwardly frozen mid-sashay.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fucking _fuck_.

Patrick had done the breakfast thing. Like, the straight-from-a-romcom breakfast thing, the whole shebang, _Jesus_. There was orange juice on the table, bacon, and a bowl of strawberries. Slightly burnt french toast and a jar of honey. The presentation and plating were awful, and David hated orange juice, and… and it didn’t matter, because no one had ever done the breakfast thing for David before. No one had ever fucked him and then woken up and said ‘You know what, I’m going to whip up something nice for that slut I brought home from the club last night.’

He wasn’t sure what his face was doing. Probably something horribly embarrassing.

Patrick said something. David didn’t catch it, but he sounded apologetic.

“You made breakfast,” he finally managed to say, and what the hell had happened to him in the last few seconds to make his voice sound like _that?_ He cleared his throat.

“Oh, yeah. It’s, um. It’s nothing,” Patrick said, and he was blushing, and David was in danger of- of something. Something dangerous was happening.

“This is not nothing,” David said, hand waving over the meal, and then realized how it sounded—how sincere, how vulnerable. _Make a joke, something, anything, oh for fuck’s sake it doesn't even have to be funny, just make. it. a. joke._

His brain refused. The sincerity just sat there between them, inelegant as the pile of french toast Patrick had plopped haphazardly on a fugly green plastic plate.

Patrick stepped forward and kissed him, still holding a spatula. It was quick, soft—but it was on the lips.

David sat down at the table, still overwhelmed by the breakfast foods arrayed against him. He was besieged by edible tokens of affection.

“Want some more coffee? I grabbed a bottle of cocoa powder on my way home from my hike.”

Did Patrick even realize he could have David over this table, like, right now? Did he understand that? He didn’t seem to. He was calmly moving a pan into the sink and rinsing it.

“I’m fine for now,” David choked out.

Then, still facing away, Patrick said in a rush, “I, uh. I actually haven’t done that before. With a guy. So.”

_Oh, shit._

David pictured that bombshell sitting between them too, now, next to the pile of french toast and 'this is not nothing.' Eyes wide, he snatched a piece of bacon. This felt like the beginning of a much longer conversation.

Patrick turned to look at him, leaning back against the counter with his arms folded protectively over his chest. David ate the bacon, giving him a minute in case he wanted to lighten the mood with some kind of Patricky banter.

He didn’t, though. Instead he just stood there, a little pale and looking genuinely spooked, and it was moving. He needed David, for once, because this wasn’t a tax form and he was out of his depth.

“Well that is- that is a surprise, because you were not competing at an amateur level last night.” He mostly meant it, too, even if this also explained some things.

“Sports analogy?”

“Pageants.”

“Right.” The corner of Patrick’s mouth ticked up.

David had never seen him look this awkward. It hurt. “Are you going to eat, or is all of this food for me?” He wanted to give Patrick a moment to collect himself. Also, the french toast was going to get cold at this rate.

Patrick sat across from him. He didn’t reach for the food.

“Someone’s been busy,” David said, gesturing to the food and finally feeling like it was socially acceptable to dig into the french toast instead of just pillaging the bacon.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve been up since five. Could not sleep. I’ve been thinking about… stuff, you know. Last night.”

Right. So Patrick was serious about having this conversation right the fuck now, then. David set down the honey jar.

“Regrets?” David asked, because he had to.

“What? No! Why would I have regrets?”

“I don’t know, I think it’s just a- a habit, to ask.” _The breakfast thing_ , David reminded himself, _He did the breakfast thing. No one casually does the breakfast thing._

“I get it, if you felt- if you wanted this to be a one time thing.” Patrick said slowly, like he was forcing it out, bless him. “But maybe tell me now, before-”

“Oh, god, no.” _Ok, but you could have said that with a little more nonchalance, Jesus._

“Oh.” Patrick sounded surprised. Apparently he hadn’t realized the thing about having David bent over the table, then.

“Alright, it feels like we have a lot to talk about, a lot to process, but I’m just not sure we should have such an important conversation, without, like, the proper preparation… we should maybe take some time to take care of ourselves, you know? To replenish…”

“Yeah, of course, whatever you- I went on a hike. For that. That’s why I went, I mean. So if you need time, I could drive you-”

“Breakfast, Patrick! I’m talking about breakfast! We can talk after breakfast!”

Patrick smiled for real, that slow-blooming smile that he tried to cover with a hand to his chin.

“Ok, David. Let’s eat,” he said, looking more like himself—confident, happy, and right on the verge of saying something awful.

Satisfied, David took a giant bite of french toast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Octopus-cuddler David is for the Rosebudd Motel gang <3
> 
> I know it’s silly, but you can pry the hungry David trope from my cold dead hands.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for small tw

They managed to talk about the store for five minutes while they ate, but neither could avoid the elephant in the room for long.

“So this is… _really_ new. For you,” David said, feeling fortified by his first piece of french toast and starting on his second. He tried to keep his voice and his eyebrows neutral.

“Yep.” Patrick nodded, methodically cutting his toast into small squares. “Sorry I didn’t get syrup, I assumed Ray would have some.”

David swallowed a huge, sticky mouthful. He’d thought his last statement would merit a longer response. “Mm. Well, fortunately the honey is excellent.”

They went quiet again. David found himself trying to _chew_ quietly.

But nope, nuh uh, he couldn’t let it go. “But you’re sure that you want more. Um, more than just last night.” He waved his fork in a circle; a bit of bread almost flew off. “Like, you’re _sure_ , even though this is brand new.”

_Oh my god, what are you doing? Are you trying to talk him out of it?_

“I mean, I think we should maybe... go slow?” Patrick met his eyes. “But yes, David. I’m sure.”

Slow. Wow. Well thank god Patrick had said something, because David had just assumed that if this conversation went well, they’d be licking honey off of each other’s bodies sometime in the next half hour.

He took another bite. Chewed. Swallowed. Freaked out again.

“It’s just that yesterday you didn’t even think you liked men? So-”

“And then last night I figured it out.” Patrick put down his silverware on his plate with a small clang and sat back. “Look. You know the- the feelings you read about, the things you see on T.V., all the things you’re supposed to feel, with, um… with sex. I felt them, last night. For the first time. And the difference between last night and what I’ve felt before was… it was…” He shook his head, like he couldn't think of a word big enough. “So. I’m sure.”

“That’s...” David was nodding stupidly, just nodding nodding nodding, trying to look encouraging without knowing what, exactly, he wanted to encourage.

He stood up. Got a cup of coffee. Added sweetener, milk, and a sprinkle of cocoa powder. Leaned against the counter and didn’t drink it. Freaked out for the third time.

“Ok, I just don’t see- I don’t see how you can be sure about wanting it again with _me_ , specifically, though?” David said, because it felt like maybe Patrick wasn’t getting this part. “Because I feel obligated to inform you that there are at least three other queer men in town, maybe four-” (He got vibes from Bob, sometimes.) “-and presumably more than that within driving distance. So.”

“Oh. Huh. Well what do the other three-maybe-four guys look like?” David barely had time to react, pulling his head back in a huff, before Patrick started laughing at him. He pushed away from the table and tugged David into his arms confidently, so confidently, he should _not_ be that confident already. “David, last night happened because I like _you_ , alright? So if you’re ready to stop asking the same question over and over again with slight variations, _I_ have a question: can I please take you on a date tonight? And then another one this weekend, and some more next week, and we’ll see where it goes from there?”

The asshole didn’t even wait for an answer, he just kissed David hard, close-mouthed and yet sexy enough to melt David’s knees.

“We can go on dates,” David said breathlessly when he let up.

Patrick smiled and broke away, gathering the dishes from the table. It was disappointing, David had been hoping he’d kiss him again.

Instead Patrick said hesitantly, as he turned to face the sink, “I think I’m probably gay.”

_Shall we go up to your room and double check?_

_Stop it. Do_ not _say that._

“That’s… fine. That’s _good_ , if you are, and you’re realizing it.” His eyes drifted over Patrick’s shoulders, down to his ass.

_Slow._

“I know it’s fine,” Patrick said, too quick. “It’s just... I’m thirty, you know?”

“Age has nothing to do with it,” David said, grudgingly raising his eyes and trotting back around to the existential crisis. “There’s nothing wrong with coming out later in life.”

Ugh. He wasn’t any good in a crisis.

Fortunately, Patrick seemed to realize that; he turned off the tap and set the last dish in the dishwasher. “Can I kiss you again?”

 _Oh thank god._ “Of course.”

This time, Patrick was more tentative. He brushed his lips against David’s, pulled back, then kissed his cheek. Then his mouth again. His hand came up to David’s shoulders and draped sweetly around his neck.

David held himself back and held himself back and held himself back.

Patrick was working his way up to it all on his own, though. He lingered on David’s lips, then there was a flash of tongue, tasting like honey and cinnamon.

“Should we get to the store?” David said, just as Patrick deepened the kiss and his hands started to wander lower down his back.

 _Slow_ , his brain screamed at his body.

“Yeah. Yeah, we should.” Patrick was holding him and smiling, and he didn’t look regretful at all. David’s chest felt like it was stretching, cracking, expanding to fit all the emotions that smile raised inside him.

_—_

Patrick led them back to his room with the best of intentions. He’d only planned for them to retrieve his jacket and David’s bag, right until the moment he backed David against the door and kissed him again. He couldn’t help himself, and anyway, the store wasn’t open for business yet. There wasn’t any rush.

At first David’s huge hands had almost held him at bay, palms pressed against his shoulders to keep some distance between their bodies, but that didn’t last. Soon Patrick was pressing him into the door, getting hard against him, kissing his neck and his jaw, and fuck it was good, so good, too good—how had he been missing this for so long, and not realized that something wasn’t right?

“You’re not making it easy to be a gentleman here,” David said against his ear, and oh, Patrick liked his voice that one octave deeper.

“No, no, you’re- you’re being very polite,” Patrick gasped, hands clutching David’s shoulders. “Positively, _fuck,_ courtly.” He felt David smile against his neck, then— “Jesus, David, fuck,” he stuttered as David bit down.

He wanted to get to his knees. The desire for it, strange and hot and so, so right, burned everything else away.

 _You know what’s slow? Thirty years, that’s slow._ He started to drop, hands going to David’s zip.

David caught him by the bicep and kept him upright.

—

What flashed through David’s mind at that moment was that Sebastien would really, really get off on this. It would be a game, to him—he’d agree to go slow, then wind Patrick up, push his buttons and play with him, testing boundaries one by one until Patrick finally snapped. Then, once he had Patrick horny and desperate, Sebastien would do whatever he liked with him. And afterwards, when Patrick had a sore throat and bruises on his jaw, Sebastien would lay the blame squarely at his feet for sending mixed signals.

Patrick should never have sex he regretted, sex that made him feel bad afterwards. David refused to be that guy in Patrick’s memory.

“Hey, hey, hey,” David said, holding Patrick steady. “I’m, um, so _not_ an expert, but that doesn’t seem slow, for your second time with a man.”

“I don’t care,” Patrick said on a breathy laugh. His head fell to David’s shoulder. After a pause—like it was a struggle—Patrick let his hands drop away from the front of David’s jeans. “God, I want you,” he said into David’s neck, shaking his head where it rested on David’s shoulder.

“We could, um, do… something else.” David’s mind raced through the options. He’d sucked Patrick’s dick already and Patrick had liked it, loved it—lost his mind over it—but was it _slow_ , to do it again? David thought it was. At least it didn’t add anything new to the equation, like, for example, David’s dick.

He struggled to think it through. Patrick’s breath was so hot against his skin; David was practically on fire from it.

Shit, maybe he just really, really wanted to suck Patrick’s dick again, so he was convincing himself it was fine. It was the kind of lie David would tell himself, _had_ told himself so many times, about so many things, in his old life.

He clenched his fist into Patrick’s shirt—it was cheap, surely it didn’t matter if it wrinkled—and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. Patrick groped his ass, unhelpfully.

“What if I suck you again?” he asked in a rush. “We did that already, so it’s- so it’s fine. Right? Is it fine?”

“It’s- but I didn’t get to touch you, last night,” Patrick said, a tremor in his voice. His body was pressed against David’s again from knee to chest. “I wanted to. I was thinking about it when I…” He glanced down significantly.

Christ.

Handjobs were slow, too, right? Surely. David had given his first handjob when he was like thirteen, for fuck’s sake.

David’s thoughts were a hornet’s nest of guilty desire, picturing Patrick’s hands on him, and Jesus, apparently Patrick wasn’t even done talking yet, fucking hell. “Please, David, I know what I said, but please, I just want to touch you a little, I want-”

“Fuck.” The begging broke something in his brain, and David surged forward, both hands coming to Patrick’s face as he kissed him hard, tongue pushing into his mouth roughly. The force of it sent them stumbling to the bed, Patrick’s hands pushing up his shirt frantically as they fell.

—

Then, the door opened.

It took a moment for Patrick to realize it, he was so wrapped up in trying to undress David.

“Patrick! And- oh, hello, David. Patrick, I was going to ask if you’d like some milk cake, my sister made it before her accident… but perhaps I’ll just leave it downstairs for you?”

On top of him, shirt rucked up towards his shoulders, David was clenching his eyes shut like he was physically in pain.

“Yes, thank you, Ray! Could you, um, close the door?”

“Oh, certainly. And David, it really is lovely to see you. Patrick hadn’t told me you two were an item, but… well, you’re welcome any time.” His tone was distinctly miffed.

Oh, Jesus. Ray was hurt that he hadn’t known.

“The door, please, Ray!” Patrick said desperately, and by some miracle Ray actually left it at that.

After a long moment, David rolled off of him. He looked so horrified that Patrick kind of wanted to laugh at him, except he was using all his energy to keep himself from straddling David and begging him to continue, Ray be damned.

“I’m sorry,” David said carefully, almost gently, turning his head and frowning at Patrick.

“For the best kiss of my life, or…”

“Ray saw us. _Ray_. He’s probably already texting Jocelyn, they’re thick as thieves. And she’ll tell her husband, and… Patrick, I think you’re going to be, like, completely out of the closet in less than an hour.”

Patrick blinked at the ceiling, thinking about that. The strange waiting-to-panic feeling hit him again, and again, the panic didn’t actually materialize. No one here knew his family or Rachel. And, well, he had moved to Schitt’s Creek because he needed a change—except ‘needed a change’ was too mild an expression for it. You wouldn’t say that someone being buried alive just needed some air.

This was certainly going to be a change.

“Good.” Patrick turned and kissed one of David’s raised eyebrows. “Let’s go to the store. I want to take you out to dinner later, but we’ve got to finished organizing the stock room and refinishing the shelves.” He launched himself off the bed and out of the room, buzzing with energy.

Looking mystified, David followed, a small smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for the brief mentions of being outed, underage sex, and Sebastien-related coercion
> 
> Also... I kind of love the idea of Ray and Jocelyn being friends? Not sure why.
> 
> Idk, I might add one more chapter because I want David telling Stevie what happens + them trying to keep their paws off of each other at the store. I tend to revisit “finished” fics quite a bit like that. Sorry if it’s annoying to see it marked finished and then updated over and over again 🙃


	5. Chapter 5

**David,** **9:50 am** **:** Well it happened  
**David,** **9:50 am** **:** We slept together

David couldn’t stop pacing.

Patrick had dropped him off twenty minutes ago and was now out picking up wood varnish from the hardware store in Elmdale. David hadn’t asked to go with him, of course, because that would be stupid; he had more than enough to keep him busy at the store. There were vendors who wanted to see the premises before signing a contract—David should email them. He should order Patrick’s business cards. He should at least stop wearing holes into his irreplaceable Hermès loafers.

He was an adult human with urgent, serious responsibilities. He couldn’t just pace and smile and fret and play with his rings until Patrick came back.

Patrick had been quiet after Ray interrupted them. He’d been quiet in the car, too, and he hadn’t invited David along to Elmdale.

Not that David had wanted to go. He had too much to do at the store.

Patrick also hadn’t held David’s hand across the car’s center console—not like David wanted that, not like the thought alone made him feel an intense rush of euphoria—but Patrick seemed like the hand-holding type, didn’t he? Maybe there was a reason he hadn’t held David’s hand, despite its being conveniently draped palm-up near the cupholder.

Maybe he was upset about what had happened in his room. Patrick had kissed David, but David was the experienced one, here. Maybe he was supposed to be the one with the self-control.

If so, this wasn’t going to work out well for anyone.

 **Stevie,** **10:00 am** **:** 🎉

Oh thank God.

 **David,** **10:00 am** **:** FINALLY she texts back  
**David,** **10:00 am** **:** What took you so long??  
**David,** **10:00 am** **:** Never mind idc  
**David,** **10:00 am** **:** Stevie it wasn’t even that weird this morning  
**David,** **10:01 am** **:** No that’s a lie it totally was, but good weird?  
**David,** **10:01 am** **:** He made me breakfast nd he wants to take me on dates  
**David,** **10:01 am** **:** Consider yourself sworn to secrecy, obvs

Repeating it to Stevie was therapeutic. What was a quiet car ride compared to dates and breakfast?

 **Stevie,** **10:05 am** **:** David you’re the only person I don’t actively avoid talking to, who would I tell?  
**Stevie,** **10:06 am** **:** I’m happy for you, but I’m more happy that I was right  
**Stevie,** **10:06 am** **:** It was so painfully obvious that he was into you

David smirked at his phone.

 **David,** **10:06 am** **:** Oh was it  
**David,** **10:06 am** **:** Was it obvious  
**David,** **10:07 am** **:** Tell me more about how obvious it was

 **Stevie,** **10:07 am** **:** Uhh it was  
**Stevie,** **10:07 am** **:** A box of rocks could have seen that he’s into you.  
**Stevie,** **10:08 am** **:** What I’m trying to say is that you’re dumber than a box of rocks. This insult isn’t coming together as smoothly as I’d hope.  
**Stevie,** **10:08 am** **:** Hey, I like this for you. For real.

 **David,** **10:09 am** **:** Oh really? Anyone could see it?  
**David,** **10:09 am** **:** ANYONE??

 **Stevie,** **10:14 am** **:** You’re being weirder than normal. Are you okay? Did it not go well?

 **David,** **10:15 am** **:** It went very well  
**David,** **10:15 am** **:** Considering that it was his first time with a guy  
**David,** **10:16 am** **:** And it made him realize he’s gay

 **Stevie,** **10:18 am** **:** WHAT

 **David,** **10:18 am** **:** Yeah  
**David,** **10:18 am** **:** So we are going to take things slow  
**David,** **10:20 am** **:** Except I don’t know how to do that

 **Stevie,** **10:23 am** **:** Ugh I want to call you but there’s a guest in the lobby  
**Stevie,** **10:23 am** **:** Holy shit I cannot BELIEVE you made him change teams  
**Stevie,** **10:23 am** **:** No offense but has he met Ted yet?

 **David,** **10:25 am** **:** Ok not helpful  
**David,** **10:25 am** **:** Stevie how do I go slow

 **Stevie,** **10:25 am** **:** Idk  
**Stevie,** **10:26 am** **:** I’ve never gone slow  
**Stevie,** **10:26 am** **:** Sorry I’m still reeling that having sex with YOU made him realize he’s gay

 **David,** **10:27 am** **:** Hey how about you fuck off  
**David,** **10:27 am** **:** Ugh I don’t know how to make someone want to stay with me without sex  
**David,** **10:28 am** **:** Sorry that was dark  
**David,** **10:28 am** **:** Shit gtg he’s back

 **Stevie,** **10:29 am** **:** Good luck with that I guess?  
**Stevie,** **10:29 am** **:** I probably should tell you to just talk to him openly and honestly about your concerns or something, but let’s be real, that’s definitely not what I would do

David shoved his phone in his pocket just as Patrick came in the door, then turned to the computer like he’d been working on something important.

The computer wasn’t even on yet. Fuck. David redirected to the speakers, which were playing his Work playlist from his phone, and turned up the music a little.

Mariah’s Touch My Body was playing, so his timing on cranking up the music was… not ideal.

**_I know that you've been waiting for it, I'm waiting too_ **  
**_In my imagination, I'd be all up on you_ **  
**_I know you got that fever for me: hundred and two_ **  
**_And boy, I know I feel the same_ **  
**_My temperature's through the roof_ **

_Betrayed by Mariah in my hour of need_ , David thought, as Patrick kissed him quickly on the cheek. David hummed vaguely in greeting, panicked about the music. He could barely look at Patrick.

“I’ll be in the back,” Patrick said, sounding normal enough. “I, um. I got you a coffee.” He left it at the counter and walked away, like it was that simple.

David didn’t watch him go.

**_Touch my body, put me on the floor_ **  
**_Wrestle me around, play with me some more_ **  
**_Touch my body, throw me on the bed_ **  
**_I just wanna make you feel like you never did_ **

_Ugh._

David knew that his MO early in a relationship, if he really liked the person, was to overwhelm them with as much sex as they wanted, whenever, wherever, and however they wanted it. But… well, it wasn’t like that strategy had been working for him. Maybe going slow would be better. Maybe going slow would break the pattern, and Patrick _wouldn’t_ break up with him after fucking like rabbits for a couple months.

Patrick came in from the back, carrying a huge box of moisturizers. He sat cross-legged on the floor, like a little kid or a stoner girl at Coachella, to arrange them on the shelf.

David smiled, until he realized Toni Braxton was now crooning into the silence of the store:

**_I'll always think of you_ **  
**_Inside of my private thoughts_ **  
**_I can imagine you_ **  
**_Touching my private parts_ **

Fuckity fuck fuck.

Changing the song would acknowledge the situation, which was surely worse than silently pretending it wasn’t happening, right? David stared at the computer screen, scrolling aimlessly—no longer blank, he’d turned it on and pulled up his email—while the song tortured him with increasingly explicit lyrics.

Christina Aguilera’s Dirrty followed Toni.

“Jesus fuck,” David burst out after the first chorus, and skipped the rest of the song.

Patrick’s shoulder’s were shaking silently, and then he was laughing aloud, his stretched neck and closed eyes so entrancing that it took a few seconds for David to catch the next song.

Madonna.

Oh _no_.

They stared at each other, Patrick amused and David horrified.

**_Like a virgin_ **  
**_Touched for the very first time_ **

Patrick stood up and came over—after he recovered from his fit of nearly-crying laughter. “Your subliminal messaging isn’t very subliminal, you know.”

Groaning, David waved a hand at the speaker. “I swear to you, that was _not_ me. That was- that was proof that if God exists, she’s decided against me-”

Patrick kissed him hard, still grinning. And David was smiling at the way Patrick’s hands dragged him close, and Madonna was singing **_Your love thawed out what was scared and cold_**.

—

 _Fuck professionalism_ , Patrick thought muzzily. He had wanted this all morning, and now that he was finally kissing David, he didn’t want to stop, not even to breathe.

“Is- is this slow?” David gasped after a couple minutes, pulling away just an inch or two. He couldn’t go further, Patrick realized, because he had one hand on David’s hip and the other on his ass. He blew out a breath and lifted his hands to David’s back reluctantly, still not ready to let him go entirely.

“You know, after weeks of ignoring most of what I tell you—my opinions about body milk, my bookkeeping instructions, my lunch order—it’s really great that this one thing is just, just sticking with you,” he said against David’s neck. His warm, rough, cedar-scented neck.

David didn’t laugh. “It matters.”

“My bookkeeping instructions also matter.” Patrick bit down, just a little, then felt guilty and licked over the spot. He felt David swallow and had to take a deep, calming breath.

“Fine, yes, but I don’t- I really don’t want to ruin this just yet, alright?”

 _I really don’t want you to ruin our books, ever_ , Patrick almost said, but didn’t. He wasn’t used to David being so sincere. That ‘yet’ was too heavy for day one of a new relationship, so he pretended not to have noticed it—but he tucked it away in the back of his mind.

“This is fine,” he insisted instead, tugging David closer by the belt loops. “Slow doesn’t mean going backwards.”

David’s jaw tightened. Some woman, Patrick didn’t know her name, was singing **_I don’t want anybody else, when I think about you I touch myself…_**

He was about to crack up again—jeez, David’s playlists needed some work before the opening—when David hauled him in, kissing the smile off his face, and Patrick forgot everything but him.

—

David had gotten Patrick up against a wall in the side room, away from prying eyes, and _fuck_ he was hard. Patrick was hard. They were both so, so fucking hard, pushing against each other, overheated and desperate, and if they kept going at it like this-

“I just don’t want you to regret anything,” he made himself say, his voice shockingly raspy.

It was true. He’d wait forever, rather than have Patrick regret this. Regret _him_.

“I’d never,” Patrick said. “Please, David, please just- I know what I said, please, I can’t-” He was shaking, trembling, just like he had been the night before.

 _He needs this_ , David thought, trying to convince himself. “Maybe just handjobs? That’s- that would probably be fine, right?”

Patrick nodded like a bobblehead, and David went for his zip.

“Actually, I- can I touch you first?”

“Yeah, yes, ok,” David said, because he should have expected it after that morning. Besides, he’d known, somehow, that Patrick would be this type—that he’d get off on getting David off, as much as anything else.

David didn’t care. He could be any type, whatever type his partner wanted.

They switched places so David was against the wall. Kleenex materialized out of nowhere, and Patrick licked his palm while David yanked his pants down— _please no gay panic, please no gay panic_ —and David’s silent prayer was interrupted by Patrick taking him in hand and moaning. Then David was the one moaning, because Patrick had callouses on his fingers, and he was pulling, stroking, building a quick rhythm that was a little too rough.

Patrick’s mouth hung open slightly, his eyes glued to David’s dick. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath. On an impulse, David ran his hand between them, down that neat row of buttons—Patrick’s shirt wasn’t even untucked—until he could rub his dick through his jeans.

Patrick’s forehead hit David’s shoulder hard, and his hand lost its rhythm just as David started to come all over it, Kleenex forgotten.

He bit his lip hard and focused on Patrick.

“I’m going to come like this if you keep-” Patrick broke off with a gasp as David pressed down even harder.

“I can stop if you want me to.”

Patrick groaned, eyes shut tight, and David started to move his hand away.

“Don’t stop,” Patrick said immediately, so David didn’t, cupping and stroking and squeezing until Patrick said “Oh, ffffu-” and came in his pants.

His head stayed glued to David’s shoulder, and after a minute David realized he was hiding. He kissed his temple and gave him a minute.

“So attractive, a thirty year old man coming in his pants like a teenager.” Patrick finally pulled away with a wry smile, his cheeks flushed.

“That was unbelievably hot.” David found the wad of Kleenex—Patrick had dropped it at some point—and gently wiped Patrick’s hand. “And this is not the time to indulge your competitive side.”

Billie Eilish’s Bad Guy was playing over the speakers. David winced.

“I’m going to go clean up in the bathroom. You ok?” Patrick met his eyes.

He looked happy. Embarrassed, maybe, but really fucking happy.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” David did his pants back up, walked out to the counter where he’d left his phone, and skipped to the next song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now this is really, actually finished.
> 
> My wife says Billie Eilish doesn’t belong on David’s phone, but I think a couple songs might sneak in.

**Author's Note:**

> Since I'm new here, sorry if I'm retreading ideas that everyone's already read a million times. I'm a mess with like 20 story fragments for this ship right now, random scenes with no context, etc. I keep wanting to sit and read more fics, then I get distracted by writing instead.
> 
> I'm on tumblr at well-schitt.tumblr.com <3


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